which, in a time of danger, your more masculine thought had rejected as unbecoming.  You forget, Lucy, that I have you in charge—­that you are now my sister—­that my promise to your departed uncle, not less than my own desire to that effect, makes me your guardian for the future—­and that I am now come, hopeful of success, to take you with me to my own country, and to bring you acquainted with her—­(I must keep no secret from you, who are my sister)—­who has my heart—­who—­but you are sick, Lucy.  What means this emotion?”

“Nothing, nothing, Mr. Colleton.  A momentary weakness from my late indisposition—­it will soon be over.  Indeed, I am already well.  Go on, sir—­go on!”

“Lucy, why these titles?  Why such formality?  Speak to me as if I were the new friend, at least, if you will not behold in me an old one.  I have received too much good service from you to permit of this constraint.  Call me Ralph—­or Colleton—­or—­or—­nay, look not so coldly—­why not call me your brother?”

“Brother—­brother be it then, Ralph Colleton—­brother—­brother.  God knows, I need a brother now!” and the ice of her manner was thawed quickly by his appeal, in which her accurate sense, sufficiently unclouded usually by her feelings, though themselves at all times strong, discovered only the honest earnestness of truth.

“Ah, now, you look—­and now you are indeed my sister.  Hear me, then, Lucy, and listen to all my plans.  You have not seen Edith—­my Edith now—­you must be her sister too.  She is now, or will be soon, something nearer to me than a sister—­she is something dearer already.  We shall immediately return to Carolina, and you will go along with us.”

“It may not be, Ralph—­I have determined otherwise.  I will be your sister—­as truly so as sister possibly could be—­but I can not go with you.  I have made other arrangements.”

The youth looked up in astonishment.  The manner of the maiden was very resolute, and he knew not what to understand.  She proceeded, as she saw his amazement:—­

“It may not be as you propose, Mr.—­Ralph—­my brother—­circumstances have decreed another arrangement—­another, and perhaps a less grateful destiny for me.”

“But why, Lucy, if a less pleasant, or at least a doubtful arrangement, why yield to it—­why reject my solicitation?  What is the plan to which, I am sad to see, you so unhesitatingly give the preference?”

“Not unhesitatingly—­not unhesitatingly, I assure you.  I have thought upon it deeply and long, and the decision is that of my cooler thought and calmer judgment.  It may be in a thousand respects a less grateful arrangement than that which you offer me; but, at least, it will want one circumstance which would couple itself with your plan, and which would alone prompt me to deny myself all its other advantages.”

“And what is that one circumstance, dear Lucy, which affrights you so much?  Let me know.  What peculiarity of mine—­what thoughtless impropriety—­what association, which I may remove, thus prevents your acceptance of my offer, and that of Edith?  Speak—­spare me not in what you shall say—­but let your thoughts have their due language, just as if you were—­as indeed you are—­my sister.”